He is Imperfection
by whirlyy
Summary: When did Lily start to notice Potter the way she did? He had flourished in his fame, equal parts flamboyant and obnoxious. Then he had calmed, matured. Now it was Lily's turn to not be able to advert her gaze from him. Lily x James one-shot.


If there was such a thing as perfection, then Lily, the notoriously stubborn redhead she was, was determined to achieved it. She was the kind of girl that never set her alarm on snooze, the one that turned up to class never missing even a spare inkpot. In the world of a perfect girl, there was no room for a boy like James Potter.

A lot of girls would certainly disagree. James Potter was the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, and agreeably handsome. But there was something Lily found to be particularly obnoxious about the way he would sweep his hand through his messy, inky dark hair, and the way his eyes shown under the sun, like orbs of amber held up to light. The arrogant person that he was, he must know that those stupid, silly round glasses only made them ever so noticeable. The way those horrid contraptions framed his cheekbones that only invited her gaze down his prominent jawline to his Adam's apple and to his strong, tanned chest…

Wait. What was she talking about again?

Oh yes. James Potter. Lily simply couldn't stand him. There should be nothing at all attractive about the way his would lounge at his desk, tie loosened and sleeves carelessly rolled up to his elbow to reveal his muscular arms that was the result of years of training on the Quidditch field. The way he would smirk, one corner of his lips curled upwards and voice gruff as he would utter her name.

She hated hearing her name in his mouth. It became something different there. Like a curse, it would effortlessly shatter all of her concentration that she could have spent hours building up. Yet there was something so addictive about the way his tongue would curl around the words that drew a yearning that Lily didn't know she had in her. It made her knees weak and her heart drum and always left her at a complete loss of control and she hated that.

It shouldn't be like this. He was utterly imperfect. He was annoying and obnoxiously and more arrogant than a preening peacock. He still played with his hair and he still haven't figured out how to sit upright at a desk. But there was something new and different that she couldn't avoid noticing.

Lily had been certain that in his eyes, the world was all light and jokes. Except now they held a new sobriety there that convinced her to reassess him. Looking at him, Lily couldn't help but recall the snow globe her father had bought her when she first visited London as a little girl, still young enough to be begging for candies and fit in her father's firm, comforting arms. She would shake the little globe about, marvelling at the snowstorm that would flourish before settling like a blanket at the foot of the miniature Big Ben, and all was calm.

James Potter had his time flourishing in his fame. Wild, untamed, he was the snowstorm nurtured by blind adoration and driven by childish logic. But now he had settled, matured. There was a quiet steadiness that hadn't been there before. Now, he would answer her gaze fearlessly and unwaveringly, no longer a boy that sought to hide himself behind a façade of overconfidence.

She had stumbled upon him accidentally one day, on her way to the edge of the forest to find Hagrid for tea. He was kneeling before a tearful young Slytherin, with a kneecap buried in the rain stained lawn. Even from a distance, Lily could see the bruise on the side of the first year girl's face, a cruel shade of purple spilt on her skin.

He was inexperienced at this stuff, that much was obvious, and he picked imperfect words Lily would have chosen better alternative to. Yet she could not bring herself to move. His voice, gentle and comforting, was carried on the soft wind all the way to her ear.

Lily would admit, however reluctantly, that there was comfort in being by his side now, in the nights they shared walking through the empty halls under the banner of Head Boy and Girl responsibilities.

When she had looked up and found his unfamiliar presence in the familiarity of the library, she was vividly aware of the joy that threatened to overflow her heart.

Oh, dear Merlin. She was happy. Happy to see Potter, of all people.

Yet it was true. His brilliance was no longer blinding. Quietly… softly, in the time she had averted him, it had shimmered down to the gentle, roaring warmth of a hearth, and Lily found that could no longer turn her gaze away.

He still can't manage an Outstanding in potions, and he still needed Remus' help with his charms essays. He still took every full moon to sneak out and not return until the break of dawn, and he was incredibly short tempered until he's had breakfast. He was imperfect, but strangely, senselessly, it was what made him perfect.

Now, there was only one logical thing to do.

It was another night, alone and in the slivery moonlight that streamed through the arched windows of Hogwarts' tower, the perfect Lily Evans had found the imperfect James Potter. Tentatively, nervously, her hand reached for his. Soft, slender fingers on calloused palm. Heated breath against her cheeks and eyelashes that fluttered shut as he drew closer.

And then they were never apart again, not even in death.


End file.
